Monthly Archives: January 2012

The search for the perfect double stroller has officially commenced and thus far my findings have been…that there isn’t such a thing.

First of all, let’s just throw out all the crappy brands that are available at a Babies R Us near you. They suck. Babies R Us sucks. You know it, they know it, I know it. Next.

Moving on, we encounter two trains of thought; a V in the road, if you will. On the one side we find those who prefer your side by side stroller. Your BOB is probably the most popular in this category. Heavy duty, shock absorbent, and without a lot of extraneous accoutrements to get in the way – simple, clean, functional. But also wide, heavy, and did I mention wide? The Baby Jogger City Mini is another popular model. Not as robust or athletic as the BOB, but much less cumbersome to schlep in and out of your trunk. Think of the BOB as Joe Manganiello and the Mini as Patrick Dempsey. Get it now?

{top to bottom: BOB/Joe, City Mini/Patrick}

On the other path, you find your tandem strollers. Most of these are not that well designed, but the premise behind them is brilliant. Like stadium seating, one child sits behind the other allowing the stroller to remain less wide then say, a refrigerator. Sadly however, most have one child down on the pavement acting as a city cleaner. Or they add their second seat (like the UppaBaby) in the back facing nowhere. Why would anyone pay $600 for a stroller which basically guarantees having a crying child on your hands? Duh. They wouldn’t. Which leaves those of us who want to fit down store aisles with very few options. One of those options is the Baby Jogger City Elite. With 16 different configurations, it’s a real winner for versatility and options for keeping both babes happy. For smoothness of ride though…eh.

And so I’m still at square one and the search continues. If only I was shopping for a new handbag…so much more satisfying.

Like this:

Janet Evanovich, author of the Stephanie Plum bounty hunter series, has sold over 85 million books and is now on her 19th book of the series. Translated into 27 languages, the books are a huge hit with mystery reader fans who like a little Lucille Ball with their murder. Evanovich sold the movie rights to her first book, One For the Money back in 1994 (TriStar $1million) before the book had even been published. It’s taken 18 years for the powers of Hollywood to bring Stephanie Plum to life and when they did…they ruined it.

I first stumbled upon Stephanie Plum back in New York in the aisles of a Grand Union grocery store. It was 1996 and I was taking a break from studying. My release from stress has always been (and will always be) to read a book. Nothing too serious, just an escape from reality for as long as it takes me to get from point A to point B. There was One For the Money, in all it’s paperback glory, up by the cash register for $4.99 and a promise of big laughs. I purchased it on a whim and never looked back. As I sat down to read it that very afternoon, snuggled in bed, far removed from the snowy hustle and bustle of collegiate life, I laughed and laughed and laughed (out-loud mind you) thoroughly entertained by the antics of poor, clueless Stephanie. That girl. She reminded me of my childhood heroes Amelia Bedelia and Pippy Longstockings all rolled up into one.

From One For the Money I continued on to Two For the Dough and from there, I have read every single one of her books including her most recent Explosive Eighteen. They are great books for lonely nights, long plane rides, and afternoons on the beach. And obviously, I am not the only reader who thinks so.

When I heard that One For the Money was being made (finally!) I was ecstatic…until I heard who had been cast as Stephanie. From that point on I knew a) I wasn’t going to see it and b) it was going to be a flop. And I was right. Reviews have been scathing:

An attempt to inaugurate a new movie franchise, something that might appeal to women and mystery fans. This is a perfectly sound ambition, but the movie, directed by Julie Anne Robinson from a script by Stacy Sherman, Karen Ray and Liz Brixius, is so weary and uninspired that it feels more like an exhausted end than an energetic beginning.

As played by Heigl, Stephanie is mind-blowingly charmless.

Starring a painfully awkward Katherine Heigl, One for the Money mostly resembles a failed television pilot.

She’s (Heigl) disastrously miscast as a character beloved by fans of novelist Janet Evanovich.

Tedious and tonally inept.

Everything in One for the Money rings cringingly false, from Heigl’s absurd Snooki accent to Plum’s romance with Joe Morelli, an Italian cop, played by – faith and begorrah – Jason O’Mara. To dismiss Julie Anne Robinson’s direction as clueless would be a kindness.

And those are the nicest ones! Next time Hollywood, check in with the fans. I don’t mean to tell you your business, but you have ruined your chances at a franchise that could have been quite profitable. Next time you want to do Jersey, pick someone like this.

Like this:

{top to bottom: glamour shot, wet t-shirt shot, out and about at the Grove with one of his 3 boys, on the set of White Collar}

If you haven’t heard of Matt Bomer yet…you will. Now my heart belongs to Castle, but Bomer’s portrayal of a con-man gone straight medium has gotten me a’twitter. Imagine my delight then, when I heard that he will be joining the cast of male strippers in the Channing Tatum story, Magic Mike. (Channing Tatum used to be a stripper in Florida before making it big in Hollywood)

Bomer’s show, White Collar is what brought him to my attention when I watched an episode on Netflix. He plays a debonair chameleon who helps the FBI catch bad guys in exchange for a shortened sentence in the big house. Bomer is so pretty it’s hard to believe he’s not gay…oh wait, yeah. He’s gay. But I can appreciate the handsome good looks all the same. Plus, he’s a pretty good actor although the only thing I’ve seen him in is White Collar. There’s just something about him. Ooo la la.

My prediction: Keep your eyes open because this young pup is about to be cast all over the place.

Like this:

Oh my ghetto fabulousness. In a spur of the moment decision this evening, I pulled into a Robertson nail parlor on my way home. It was late, I was sick of the traffic, and somehow my car just veered to the right and parked itself. Badda-bing, badda-boom, the next thing I knew I was plopped in a seat getting my nails done. By an Asian man. Who was probably 20. And built like a football player. And that’s not even the strange part…

The last time I had my nails painted was the weekend I got married. I am not a painted nails kind of gal. Toenails, yes – love it. Fingernails, not so much – with my lifestyle the paint is chipped in less than a day and then I spend a month looking like a homeless, goth teenager until I finally get out a cotton swab and take the last flakes off. It’s beyond tacky. So today when I found myself getting not just my toes, but my fingernails painted as well, I couldn’t believe it. And neon pink? Not red. Not pink. But a color so bright I can still see it when I turn off the lights. Who am I?

I feel like that chic from Jersey Shore, but I’m digging it. I think this might be my new thing – the girl who dresses in monochromatic neutrals, but who has ghetto-booty-shaking nails.

Like this:

Recently, my husband went out-of-town. It wasn’t for long, and I knew it would be tough to hold down the fort alone, but never for one second did I consider how lonely I’d feel. My entire life, I’ve thrived on alone time; time to read, watch bad movies, write my little stories, cuddle with the dog, and eat ice cream right out of the tub. It’s been my nirvana. But suddenly, this time, I felt at loose ends.

First of all, I missed the presence of another human being who could talk in full sentences. Don’t knock full sentences until you go a day without one. Not to mention that he’s potty-trained. Never once has my husband pooped his pants and asked me to help him with it. That’s gold in my book.

Secondly, I didn’t feel much like reading or watching a movie or even writing. I just wanted to see him, eat dinner with him, tag team him in when our daughter started throwing her dinner on the floor. I realized I liked my husband much better then I thought I did. I mean, if I were a single parent, I’d get used to being alone. Alone would be my normal. But pathetic as it sounds, I was really glad we were in this together – because without him here, our bed was too big, our house was too quiet, and our children were going to do me in.

Each day the loneliness/missing an arm feeling got better, but still, it surprised the heck out of me. Me, Miss Independent, missed my husband. I never would have believed it if I hasn’t seen it for myself.

Like this:

While some people in Los Angeles have spent their day getting buffed, painted, and polished for the Golden Globes, I’ve spent the day cleaning and organizing…the garage. It’s a sexy job and it was a hard decision to make: get a massage, have people wait on me hand and foot, and put on a dress that makes me feel like a fairy princess OR haul rusty paint cans to the sidewalk, sort through bags of hardware, and walk through one seemingly giant network of cobwebs. My choice was made up for me when the invite for the Golden Globes got lost in the mail.

Strangely, it seems as if half of Hollywood has no idea what looks good on them. (yes, my claws are out) Here however, are the winners:

Selma Hayek (awesome cleavage)

Michelle Pfeiffer (win. win. win)

Jessica Chastain (interesting and unique)

Sofia Vergara (perfect)

Kate Beckinsale (sweet, simple, gorgeous)

Reese Witherspoon (risky, but I liked it)

Emma Stone (interesting and provocative)

Helen Mirren (finally, someone who gets how to dress her age)

Diane Lane (so glamorous)

Octavia Spencer (now that is how a curvaceous woman should dress)

And here are the LOO-sers:

Jessica Lange (yikes)

Missi Pyle (oh honey – where do I start)

Tine Fey (no more mermaid strapless dresses please)

Charlize Theron (weird and weird)

the Mission Impossible chick in yellow (enough said)

Zooey Deschanel (it was like a 50’s Hairspray commercial gone aspray)

Maya Rudolph (boo-ring)

Angelina Jolie (eat something would you?)

Natalie Portman (is that baby fat on your hip or…?)

Julianne Moore (great earrings – dull dress)

Madonna (ouch. poor boobies)

Freida Pinto (strange armpit fat going on)

Melissa McCarthy (drab green? really?)

And then there’s Jessica Biel who I wanted to put in the best-dressed list because she looked fantastic except…what was up with that third boob? And that’s all I saw so that’s all I can comment on. The rest were just eh, you know, fine.